


fook of the irish

by yareyareyumi



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accents, Crack, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Switching, my weird ass sense of humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 20:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21214790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yareyareyumi/pseuds/yareyareyumi
Summary: there's a hip, new status effect that's infecting chaldea with the most inaccurate, gratuitous accents, and lancer and archer must smash so they can get back to saving humanity





	fook of the irish

**Author's Note:**

> first chapter is archer/lancer. the next chapter will be lancer/archer. 
> 
> been working on this shit for months (idfk why either) and am going insane. ill fix mistakes later 
> 
> A BIIIIIIG ASS THANK YOU TO MY BETAS: @hamnet, @o1athe (THANK. YOU. for some of lancer's worst irish-adjacent dialogue)

Kintoki, in the midst of persistently trying to coax a stray bang back into its gel, froze and hastily shoved the comb into his pocket. He sat up ramrod straight, a testament to the discipline drilled into him, and fixed his eyes on Da Vinci as she walked in. 

Ritsuka, following closely behind, glanced at the roomful of Servants. 

Scáthach and Cú Chulainn leaned casually against the back wall, waiting silently, mentor and mentee eerily in unison. In the middle of the room, Billy the Kid slouched on a stool, hat drooping over one eye. Next to him, a rigid Zhuge Liang grit his teeth, his scowl unnaturally pinching his youthful face into wrinkles that he had yet to develop. Yan Qing sat on the floor, legs crossed, idly tapping out a rhythm on his gauntlets. 

The Assassin spotted Ritsuka and waved with a grin. Ritsuka waved back, weakly. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Da Vinci said pleasantly, undeterred by the odd tension in the room. 

The crowd of Servants shifted with anticipation. 

“Fortunately, we’ve found a solution for the status effects! As I’m sure you all know, they’ve been causing a lot of communication troubles,” Da Vinci continued. “And not just on the field! The support staff has already registered a few formal complaints.”

The Servants all nodded and murmured in understanding. 

“‘D have half a mind to take the Big Jump myself if this bothahrayshun didn’ drive me madder than an old wet hen,” Billy said, hucking up saliva and spitting perfectly into a trash can. 

Kintoki looked at Ritsuka in confusion. She shrugged helplessly. 

“My investigations have shown that this Status Effect is rather long-lasting,” Da Vinci said. “As one of the two primary Servant teams, I’m sure you know Chaldea can’t afford to wait for this to wear off naturally. So it’s in everyone’s best interest to do exactly what I’m about to tell you.” 

All the Servants leaned forward. 

“To cleanse your system of this magical ‘virus,’ you simply need enough pure mana. However! Your Masters won’t be able to supply you with that mana.” 

Da Vinci levelled a finger at her audience.

“Therefore, all of you need to sleep with a Servant who hasn’t been affected. Preferably more than once,” Da Vinci finished chipperly, voice still full of casual cheer. 

“Da-Vinci-chan!” Kintoki jumped to his feet in shock, hand shooting up into the air. He sputtered, face turning a violent red. “You c-can’t be まじめな!!!” (Translator’s note: まじめな means Majimena, which means “serious”). 

Yan Qing frowned—which made him look even more handsome—and also raised his hand. 

“春眠不觉晓，处处闻啼鸟?” 

“One at a time, please. One at a time! I’m a genius, but even I have— ”

“Bollocks,” Zhuge Liang muttered loudly. “Bloody bollocks.” 

“- 越来风雨声，花落知多少!“

“Hey, Master.” Cú Chulainn, raising his voice to be heard, addressed Ritsuka directly. He lazily lifted a hand as an afterthought. 

“This queer bit of skirt, is it ahkay if we’ve flah’ed ‘em before?” 

All the individual sounds were familiar and should have formed words, but veered away from comprehension at the last minute. 

“Uhhh,” Ritsuka started. 

“Yep! That shouldn’t affect the mana transfer,” said Da Vinci, yelling over her shoulder. “Everyone quiet down!”

“Nifty,” Cu Chulainn said. 

He peeled himself off the wall and headed towards the door, giving Ritsuka a playful cuff on the shoulder as he passed. “Goin’ ta go then, Master. No use putting it on the long finger, eh? I hafta root ‘em ta shag. Bit of a melter at first, so grabbin’ some bevvies.” 

Ritsuka, rubbing her rapidly bruising shoulder, settled for a nod and a mute thumbs up. 

“Alright, now that we’ve settled down, I’ll be providing a refresher of the basic concepts of mana transfer for anyone who needs it,” Da Vinci said, pulling out a batch of violently colored pamphlets. 

And the meeting ended abruptly. Stools tumbled to the floor as Servants hastily filed out of the room. 

Cú Chulainn noticed Scáthach heading purposefully down one hallway. 

He called out - “So, who’s yer ride, Teacher?” - preparing to dodge any variant of Gáe Bolg Alternative that might come his way. 

Scáthach sent him a chilling look but stopped walking long enough to answer. 

“Fergus.”

A sound choice. Cú Chulainn nodded in approval. 

“Er, Teacher, Fergus’s gaff is down the other way-”

“A’ know.” Scáthach strode down the hallway in the opposite direction.

“Uh-”

“A'm fetchin Medb.” 

“Ah.” Trust his teacher to go above and beyond. “Hope yer suckin’ diesal.”

Scáthach glanced back with a hint of a smile. 

“Don’t yeh worry yer wee head aboot mah doggin.’ Ye’d bettah skedaddle yerself, not blather aboot.” 

“Ah ye, I’d better bolt.” 

Cú Chulainn ran through everything in his mind. The kitchen was pretty far, and he needed to pick up something for his impromptu wooing. 

Without exchanging another word, master and disciple came to a silent understanding. Conversation over, they both turned and walked away in opposite directions. 

“Howya, Caster, what’s a craic? ” Lancer said, as he turned the corner and almost stepped on the other Servant. 

“I don’t even want to know,” Andersen said airily from where he lay on the floor, twisting open another bottle of gin. 

\---- 

“Good, you’re here,” Archer said, not looking up from his work. “Help me carry this to the Western lounge when I’m done.” 

Lancer wrinkled his nose as the cloying smell of ozone and iron hit his nostrils. Archer was crouched, his back towards Lancer, in a puddle of coils spilling out of a gutted radiator. Something had raked its claws down the radiator’s sides, peeling it apart like a jagged, molten orange.

Lancer whistled at the carnage before turning towards Archer. 

“Oi, Master needs me to do something, t’aint no one man nixer.” 

Archer didn’t spare Lancer a glance and rolled a few glowing screws in his palm. They clinked together, setting off sparks of magecraft.

“All I’ll say is that my hands are pretty full here,” Archer said. “That dragon Berserker and Lancer had another one of their tantrums. And now they’re complaining that the lounge is too cold—” 

“Can’t ye take a break?” Lancer scoffed, shifting the weight of the paper bags in his arms. “Man, you always act like Chaldea is gont’a go arseways if you don’t fix every shitter.” 

“...But I’m sure whatever you want is much more important.” Archer sighed heavily, as if his time was made of gold. He paused, finally turned around, and stared at Lancer. “And why are you talking like that?” 

“I need a favor,” Lancer said. 

Lancer ogled the nightstand—the closest and least cluttered piece of furniture in the room. He judged which side had the least important-looking gears, brushed those off with a clatter, and set his burden down in the cleared space. 

“Please, make yourself at home,” Archer said, watching with a raised eyebrow. “Can I get you a snack?” 

“What’re you whining about? Making a hames of yer kip of a gaff will help it actually look lived in,” Lancer said.

“Which is why we always do this in my room, even though yours is so ‘lived in.’”

Lancer ignored him and sauntered over to the pristine bed. The sheets, tightly tucked with military precision, looked sharp enough to give papercuts. Lancer, making a mental note to mess them up as much as possible, sat down. 

He propped his feet on the nightstand with a thud, sending another rain of screws clattering to the floor. Lancer gestured pointedly. 

“Pardon me. I’m not exactly preoccupied with making my room ‘welcoming,’” Archer said hotly. 

“Aye.” Lancer nodded sagely. “Or livable.” 

“I like it this way,” said Archer, a tad defensively. 

“Ah’m just saying. Yer room has more metal than covers,” Lancer said, shrugging. He looked directly at Archer and continued talking in a breezy tone. “People might start mistaking yer gaff for a garage, y’know.” 

“I see one of us has a lot of free time as always,” Archer said, electing to ignore that last jab. “Hand me that copper cable next to your feet. ‘Fetch.’ You’re especially good at that, aren’t you?” 

Lancer grinned with all his teeth and obligingly tossed the cable at Archer’s head. Archer caught it with one hand. 

As he tinkered with the radiator, Archer snuck what he probably thought was a subtle glance at Lancer. Lancer patiently let him. 

“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but,” Archer said. “What did you get yourself into this time?” 

Lancer walked over and dropped into a squat next to the other Servant. He clapped Archer on the shoulder in a melodramatic display of camaraderie. Archer’s annoyed expression could have caused plants to wither. Lancer found it hilarious. 

“Archer, ye mucker, we, for Chaldea’s sake, must pull our socks up.” 

Archer stared at him. Lancer sighed. 

“I need ye ta knock the hole off me. ” Lancer spelled it for him, slowly, adding in helpful illustrative hand motions. “To lamp it in—inside me ringhole— so this poxy Status Effect—” 

“Don’t - don’t. Stop that.” Archer smacked Lancer’s hands. 

Lancer shrugged. “Master had trouble too. So, you in?” 

“She had trouble? Can’t imagine how,” Archer deadpanned. He sighed and rubbed his temples, leaving behind streaks of dust. “I got it. You need a partner to transfer mana with.” 

And just as Lancer predicted, Archer hesitated for a moment before sighing. “If it’s what Master needs.” 

“Ain’t that the dog’s bollocks!” Lancer crowed, slapping the other man’s back. Archer cursed and flailed as he nearly lost his balance. “Knew I could count on ye.” 

Archer smiled, just slightly, before catching himself and clearing his expression. He squinted at Lancer and suddenly grabbed him by the jaw. Ignoring Lancer’s garbled protest, Archer pried the other man’s mouth open. 

“Your tongue looks normal as far as I can tell,” Archer said, as he looked down Lancer’s throat intently. “Mana transfer. So. A status effect?” 

Archer released his grip on Lancer’s face. His expression abruptly shifted into a familiar one of professional seriousness. “Well, whatever. I suppose we have to move quickly. The last thing Master needs is another distraction.” Archer opened a packet of wet wipes and began cleaning his hands with quick, mechanical motions. 

Suddenly, Archer smirked. “Hey Lancer, don’t tell me I’m your first choice for this particular favor.”

Lancer, rubbing his jaw, felt a spike of weary irritation but played along. Here they went—yet another indirect game to establish some intricate type of dominance that only Archer could measure or cared about. 

“T’snot really about choices or whatever. But yeah. I wagered, we’ve been shagging for a while, and we’ve known each other for ages,” Lancer said. “We know how to make each other feel good, make shagging a real craic.” 

Lancer rested a hand on Archer’s thigh. 

Archer’s breath hitched slightly, but he cleared his throat and continued speaking. “I suppose you couldn’t just go to anyone. You’d owe a pretty big debt to whoever would be willing to help you.” He sounded like a Lord trying to wager and intimidate for a piece of land, calculating and grating. 

Lancer sighed impatiently. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be doing ye one, or fifty, or a tonne or whatever. Everyone’s already shagging someone else. Way I see it, modern morals are still dense, but, eh. Don’t want ta make a right bags of anyone’s rock ‘n’ rolling.” 

Archer seemed to realize he wouldn’t be getting a rise out of Lancer today. He scowled slightly. 

“You? Being worried about awkwardness? In sexual excursions?” Archer said, attempting a final stab. “Careful, you might develop a sense of shame and decency.” 

“Make sure yer swords are as sharp as yer tongue, Archer,” Lancer drawled. “Yer welcome to have a go at me, if ye want me to check.”

Archer smiled in response. The Servant stood up, cracking his neck with a groan, unable to hide a wince as he stretched. 

“Ah’ brought you som’ bevvies,” said Lancer, getting up as well. He pointed at the paper bags and mimed a drinking gesture. 

Lancer casually looped an arm around Archer and grinned when he relaxed into his hold. 

“Godly Wine?” Archer guessed, amused. “So that’s the worth of my virtue. Well, before I can help you out, I have some other obligations - ” 

“Scran duty, right? Already talked to that copper-top vixen with the diddies. She’s coverin’ ye,” said Cu, waving Archer’s worries aside. 

“That’s. Very considerate,” Archer conceded after a pause. The occasional reminders of Lancer’s perceptiveness were jarring. And the fact that Archer himself was still blindsided by them irritated him. 

Lancer just smiled and guided them over to Archer’s bed. Taking the lead, Lancer sat and immediately shoved his feet under the sheets, kicking them loose. He stretched out languidly, releasing the upper half of his armor and letting it dissolve into a cloud of mana. Lancer rolled his bare shoulders, conscious of how Archer’s eyes followed the ripple of muscle. When Lancer looked up, Archer jerked his head away slightly, as if he’d been caught, and stiffly settled on the bed next to Lancer. 

“Exactly how much mana do you need?” Archer, the ever-pragmatic, asked. His gaze was cool and dispassionate. It just made Lancer want to chip at that veneer even more. 

Archer didn’t give him the chance to answer, leaning forward to close the distance between them. He slowly wove a hand through Lancer’s hair. Lancer let himself melt into the touch and sighed with bliss unashamedly. 

“I asked you a question,” Archer’s amused voice drew him back to reality. His hand didn’t stop. 

Lancer leaned in when Archer’s finger moved and scratched behind his ear. He drew the line, however, when Archer, eyes crinkling from contained laughter, started to scratch his chin. 

Lancer grabbed and pulled the other man into a kiss, prying the other man’s mouth open, savoring the familiar taste of Archer’s mana. He finally pulled back, thumbing the strand of drool off Archer’s chin, pleased with how flustered the other man looked.

“Go way outta that. I’ll make sure to get my fill,” Lancer said in a low voice. 

Archer’s face softened almost unnoticeably. He looked at Lancer, not unfondly. “You don’t know, do you.”

“Whatever! Ya ain’t a jibber, this in’t first time transferring mana neither.” Lancer slapped the tense muscle on Archer’s shoulder. “Why do ye have to plan everything? Y’know this is supposed to be some grand craic, right?” 

Lancer lowered his voice again. “But fine, since yer fretting so, I’ll be taking everything ye have to offer tonight. That outta make ye happy out.” 

He cupped Archer’s face. 

A muscle under Archer’s eye jumped.

“Cú Chulainn, I should leave you to flounder, alone,” Archer said. “But I have a duty to uphold to our Masters.” 

He pulled Lancer close and kissed him forcefully with passion and annoyance. Lancer quickly recovered from his surprise and responded enthusiastically. Riling up Archer always had such nice results. 

\---  
Like clockwork, they fell into a familiar pattern of kissing and caressing. Lancer ran his hands down the other man’s waist and tugged impatiently at the red cape. Archer grunted in acknowledgement and let the cloth evaporate into a haze of mana. 

One by one, pieces of clothing disappeared, rather inefficiently. Lancer, already completely undressed, made a game out of licking every tan stripe of skin as it was exposed. Archer groaned and swatted at him in annoyance.

“Are ye stuck in yer kex?” Lancer said, idly grabbing Archer’s ass and kneading. 

Archer practically hurled his last shoe at the wall. It burst into a flurry of mana. He shoved Lancer onto the bed. 

“Let’s do something about that accent,” Archer said. Then, sheepishly, “...Can you pass me the lube.” 

Lancer snorted but obligingly inched up the bed and twisted a hand to retrieve the bottle from the nightstand drawer. He tossed it to Archer, who uncapped the bottle and poured a liberal amount out onto his hand. 

A moment later, Archer twisted and curled two fingers within Lancer. Absentmindedly pressing his lips against Lancer’s collarbone, Archer moved his fingers slowly. His eyes scanned Lancer’s face. 

His fingers brushed against a spot and Lancer jumped. Archer smirked. 

“Right to me langer,” Lancer hissed. He dug his fingers into Archer’s shoulders. 

Archer rested his entire torso on the other Servant, pinning Lancer down with his weight. As he predicted, Lancer relaxed, sinking into the mattress. Archer added a third finger. 

“Feck...flatten me, ya fuckin’ sky pilot.” 

Lancer’s eyes fluttered shut, and he threw his head back. He therefore missed the conflicted expression that flitted across Archer’s face. Panting heavily, Lancer slowly relaxed. Archer quickly ducked his head, hiding his face. 

Lancer arched his back with a jolt. He flinched again and glared downwards. Archer, head inclined slightly as he nipped and sucked on Lancer’s nipple, raised an eyebrow. 

How anyone thought this man was mature and suave was beyond Lancer. 

“Hey, ye have to come for mana transfer to work,” Lancer said, weakly swatting Archer on the side of his head. “Ye know that, right?” 

“I thought you came to me because of how well I know your body,” Archer responded. He used all three fingers to massage in a circular motion. 

Lancer clawed at the sheets. “Gods, that’s some wopper—ah, that’s the shot.” 

Archer’s face twitched. He curled and uncurled his fingers, sliding his other hand downwards to rub circles on the small of Lancer’s back. 

“Feck me,” Lancer said under his breath. “Feck me, feck me, feck - Don’t stop, ya bombay shitehawk.”

Archer - expression carefully blank, eyes vaguely pained - as requested, didn’t stop. 

Although he felt boneless, Lancer managed to reach upwards and wrap Archer in a loose embrace. When Archer’s fingers pressed into a spot that made him see stars, Lancer tightened his grasp. Pulling Archer closer, Lancer gasped and muttered breathless curses into his ear. 

At some point, time as a linear concept had dissolved for Archer, and the days, years, centuries, time period flowed past him like rushing water, eroding what was left of Shirou EMIYA until nothing remained except polished steel. 

He’d found that he’d become detached from everything, including seduction. A smirk here. A murmured promise there. And the occasional calculated expression of vulnerability. Simple. Archer took bitter pride in his reliability, regardless of the task. Nothing could rattle him. 

“Take that flute of yours,” Lancer moaned directly into his ear. “An’ jam it in, laddie.” 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Archer’s fingers stopped. Lancer looked at him quizzically. 

“Hey, wh-”

Archer desperately rushed forward to seal the other man’s mouth. Lancer’s eyelids fluttered, and he stretched out underneath Archer, who licked and sucked fervently. 

Archer kissed Lancer as deeply as possible, trying to steal his breath away. The only sounds Lancer could manage were wordless half-moans. Archer, hesitantly, began moving his fingers. 

Lancer writhed and shivered. His nails dug into the back of Archer’s shoulders and neck. Lancer tried to breathe through his nose, but Archer’s fingers caused his breath to stutter. Archer’s insistent kissing began to feel suffocating, and Lancer’s vision swam. 

He lightly smacked Archer repeatedly on the shoulder, then hitched a leg up and brought his heel down as hard as he could. 

Archer jolted when Lancer’s heel jabbed him in the ass. Lancer, gasping for air, lifted a placifying hand. 

“What you, doin, trying to suffocate me, eh laddie?” croaked Lancer after he’d caught his breath. “Doing fucking fantastic o’erwise, but fuck the Queen and let me breathe.” 

“Sorry,” Archer muttered. 

Lancer took another few gulping breaths. Gradually, his breathing evened out. He then exhaled loudly and looked up at Archer expectantly. Archer looked back, helplessly. 

“Anyways, no more faffin’ about,” Lancer said, still slightly breathless. “Think I’m ready.” He lifted his hips. 

“I suppose you are,” said Archer miserably. 

Archer repositioned himself with a somber air of a prisoner walking to the gallows. They both fell silent as Archer aligned himself to Lancer’s entrance. The only sound in the room was their labored breathing. Then, complete tense silence as they both held their breath. Archer pushed forward. 

Archer’s mouth fell open and he let out a soundless groan as he pushed into Lancer. For a moment, he savored the tight heat and Lancer’s gasps. He pressed forward slightly, spreading Lancer’s legs further apart. 

“Come onto fuck, lad. Fuckin’ horse it into me already,” Lancer sang. 

“Cu Chulainn,” Archer said, pulling back and grabbing the other servant’s by his shoulders. “If we are to finish this mana transfer, you must stay absolutely quiet.” 

“Wha-”

“If you need a gag, I can project one.”

Lancer wrinkled his nose. “Can’t get yer oats off me if me mouth ain’t gagged, eh?” 

Archer inhaled and exhaled slowly, aware that he needed to choose his next words carefully. 

“Your accent. Has an -” Archer ran his hands through his hair agitatedly. “ - effect.” 

Lancer followed the motion with hungry eyes, running his tongue over his lips. “Effect, yeah?” he echoed impatiently. “Do it stop ye from layin’ pipe?” 

Archer looked deep into the other man’s eyes, hoping to convey the seriousness of the issue. “I am having a really hard time getting my dick to stay up.” 

Lancer eyed said erection. “Looks sound to me.” 

“I have a lot more willpower than the average man,” Archer said. “But really, we have to do something about your accent.” 

Lancer gave him a weird look. He scratched his neck. “What, it’s bothern’ ye that bad?” 

“Yes. Yes, I’ve been bothered,” Archer said, relieved that Lancer and he were on the same page. “A lot, actually.” 

Lancer cut him off “Ach, awright, awright. Fine. I’ll dry up, just be quicker, yeah?”

As they repositioned themselves, Lancer, genuinely perplexed, muttered under his breath, “Actin’ as if blarney’s coming out me cake-hole.”

Archer did not deign to respond.  
\---  
Things started off rather smoothly with their new arrangement. 

Archer, after confirming that Lancer’s hand was firmly over his mouth several times, had settled into a rhythm of shallow thrusts. Lancer breathed heavily through his nostrils. He gripped Archer’s wrist with his free hand. Lancer’s nails dug into Archer’s skin, leaving red marks, especially when Archer thrust particularly hard. 

“I won’t lie. This has a certain appeal,” said Archer, breath ragged. Archer pulled Lancer towards him and snapped his hips. “You almost seem well-behaved. Docile.” 

Lancer gave a muffled cry at another sudden, sharp thrust. He lifted his hand from his mouth, which was wet with saliva. 

“Sure ya ain’t doin’ this to get yer oats off, are ye now?” Lancer rasped gleefully. 

Archer pushed Lancer’s hand over his mouth, pinning it there with his own. “We need to do this more often.” 

Archer picked up the pace, trying to elicit a reaction. Lancer’s breathing grew harsher, and the Archer shifted the angle of his thrusts, pleased to hear Lancer’s wordless hiss taper off into a keen. 

Archer leaned down and sucked gently Lancer’s neck travelling downwards. He reached the beginning of Lancer’s collarbone, paused, and bit. Lancer let out a muffled, breathy groan, letting go of Archer’s wrist to drape his arm around Archer, pulling him in closer. 

A droplet of sweat ran down Lancer’s neck and wet the tip of Archer’s nose. Lancer’s scent - sharp and wild, like the bite of cold mountain air - overwhelmed Archer’s nostrils. 

Sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead. A long strand of blue hair clung to his cheek. Archer closed his eyes. He heard and felt Lancer’s groan reverberate in his chest. 

Archer felt a familiar jolt in his cock and drastically upped the pace, pounding into Lancer. Lancer let out a stream of frantic, muffled noise that pitched in time with Archer’s thrusts. 

Eyes still closed, he savored the friction. Muscle memory takes over as Archer bends down to whisper into Lancer’s ear and bring him over the brink: “Let me hear you.” 

Wait. 

Shit shit shit shit 

His eyes snapped to Lancer’s open mouth.

“Boys a dear,” Lancer moaned. 

Archer’s orgasm hits him and he’s carried away by an overwhelming, paralyzing torrent of euphoria, pleasure, and incredulous anger lighting up every nerve in his body. His vision whites out briefly, and he comes back to reality as the pleasant tingling gradually fizzled out. 

He’s vaguely aware of Lancer riding out his own orgasm underneath him and feels the rapidly cooling cum smeared on both their stomachs. 

Synchronized orgasms. Archer distantly registers that in every technical way, shape, and form that was the perfect mana transfer session. 

Lancer smacked Archer on the shoulder. Archer could not find the energy in him to grouse, and instead numbly pulled himself up into a kneeling position. The other Servant awkwardly shimmies off his lap. Archer’s cock, completely soft, slipped out without any fuss or bother. 

“Ye need a hand with-” Lancer said, stretching. He paused and blinked. “Huh, yer soft.” 

“I know,” Archer said, voice flat. 

“Ye usually get hard again pretty quickly, ‘sall” Lancer said, shrugging. 

“I know.” 

Archer dragged his legs over the side of his bed, propped his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands. 

“Ah, that was class,” he heard Lancer say rather cheerfully behind him. “Wonder when this effect’s gon’ta lay off. Reckon we oughta go ‘nother round at it, just ta be sure.” 

Archer grunted. 

“Oi, Archer. You alright?” Lancer asked, suddenly right next to his ear. 

You walk into hell once or twice and think you’ve seen everything, including the most destructive weapons of war this world has to offer. This was Archer’s mistake. Forget missiles that blew apart families in their homes, forget bounded fields which liquidated their victims into a slurry. 

Status effects were absolutely detrimental, physically and psychologically. 

Archer chuckled darkly, mocking his own naïvete. Suddenly, he turned and grabbed Lancer, expression slightly manic. 

“It still hasn’t left yet?” Archer demanded. 

“Well let’s see, ah I say naw ta that I guess,” Lancer tested out quickly. “Aye, that’s a naw, but-”

“We need to transfer mana again, right now,” Archer said. He leaned forward and hissed, “You are not leaving this room until you can talk properly.” 

“Right now, is it?” Lancer glanced dubiously at Archer’s cock. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Archer said through gritted teeth. 

“Well, let me give ye a hand, then,” Lancer said, deciding to ignore Archer’s behavior for now. 

“Well actually-” Archer started, vaguely hysterical. Thankfully, the lancer only reached southward to give the Archer a handjob. Lancer’s hands felt good and- “Fine. But, mouth-” 

“Closed, ah know ah know,” Lancer said irreverently. His face suddenly lit up with inspiration - “Actually, how about this.” - and he dipped his head. 

This was unlike any form of torture Archer had ever experienced. The sweltering closeness of Lancer and the wet, heated pleasure were all accompanied by-

“How’s ye knob feelin’?” Lancer said, speech garbled. Lancer tended to be rather unusually chatty for someone performing fellatio. 

“Please just shut up, shut up, shut up,” Archer chanted breathlessly in response. 

Lancer shrugged and sucked harder, making Archer double over with a groan. The lancer swirled his tongue over the top of Archer’s cock - then abruptly pulled away.

“Ayy Archer yer boobies are the finest land I’ve ever seen,” Lancer recited, apropos to nothing. He then clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Nope, still not enough. Ya see I thought yer precum might be enough what with ya coming so recently-“ 

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Archer asked quietly, voice trembling slightly.

“Ah, ye’ve gonn’ soft again,” Lancer astutely noticed. 

Archer stood up. 

“An’ where you saunterin’ off ta?” Lancer exclaimed, perplexed. 

“I think you need to find a new partner,” Archer said coolly, not sparing Lancer a glance as he shuffled towards the corner of the bed. 

Lancer gritted his teeth in frustration. 

“Yer being ridiculous!”

“No,” Archer whipped around and snapped at Lancer, voice cracking with repressed emotion. “You are the ridiculous one here, Cú Chulainn. This arrangement is simply demanding too much from me. - ” 

“T’aint that bad,” Lancer said incredulous. 

“Let me phrase this as politely as I can: if there was an antithesis to dirty talk,” Archer hissed. “It would be whatever is coming out of your mouth.” 

“Didn’t we have a deal - ah, bleh. I’m starting to sound like ye,” Lancer grabbed Archer’s face. “I didn’t come here just for the mana,” he huffed. “Ah didn’t.” 

Archer stared at him with disdain. “Well, I thought I made it obvious long ago that you don’t need to ‘woo’ me. But do tell, Lancer,” he challenged. “What did you come here for?” 

Lancer groaned. “Why do ya have to ask it like - Ah wanted ta do it with ye,” he snapped at the other man, irritated, gripping Archer’s face and shaking the other man. “Does there have to be anything more than that?” 

As Lancer looked at him straightforwardly and casually jabbed his foot into territory that Archer would have rather died than acknowledge, Archer felt the usual cocktail of annoyance and jealousy that always resurfaced around the other man. 

Didn’t the other man see the mess they’d tangled themselves in? They weren’t friends with benefits because they weren’t friends. They weren’t strangers because shaping each other’s destiny warrants a little more familiarity than that. Their relationship could only exist in this liminal space, unacknowledged. 

“I understand it’s instinct for you to flirt until it’s far past the point of being unbecoming, but do you understand how sorely how I can misinterpret your last statement?” Archer said, staring at Lancer. 

“Really? Thought I made it pretty simple,” Lancer said, holding Archer’s gaze. 

“Be considerate and try dumbing it down more for me.” 

“I’ll bring better booze next time,” Lancer moved on, ignoring him. “Some of Shuten’s spirits.”

“Didn’t those almost kill someone?”

“What? So you don’t want any?” 

Archer narrowed his eyes. “If you somehow manage to get your hands on oni wine without dying, bring it straight over here. Of course, I suspect I’ll be digging your grave by the end of that night.” 

Lancer snorted. “See, now you’re just talking nonsense, that’s how I know you’re in a better mood.” 

Archer hadn’t realized but at some point, he’d brought his hands up to cover Lancer’s and was cupping them if somewhat rigidly. The two men sat there, breathing syncing up unconsciously. 

Archer froze suddenly, his eyes widening. “Your accent’s gone.” 

“Your heart is mine, Gae Bolg,” Lancer said in a rush. He grinned with delight, letting go of Archer’s face to pump his fist in celebration and whoop victoriously. “Man, I was getting worried there! I started thinking about what’d I’d have to tell Master.” 

Archer allowed a small, genuine smile to flicker across his face. Then, he crossed his arms and let his face settle into a more neutral expression. 

“All’s well ends well. Perhaps you are not so unlucky after all, Cú Chulainn. I would’ve done my duty to end your life if it had come to that,” said Archer. “Well. I am the Bone of my…” 

Archer trailed off in horror. The two Servants stared at each other, frozen.

"Ah, feck," said Lancer.

**Author's Note:**

> also thank you to:  
1\. this glossary of irish slang: http://www.irishslang.co.za/print.htm  
2\. derry girls  
3\. scottish twitter 
> 
> you my only hoes


End file.
